The first lilacs of spring
by shadowleaves
Summary: Harriet Potter-Black never wanted this. But that's where she is now, so she'd better deal with it. And sadly, most of them belonged in a mental asylum, but she too gets no room to complain. fem!Harry-is-Viper!
1. Chapter 1

_I. Beginning_

Harriet had always been an odd child.

She'd always been calm, too calm, for a child of her age.

Too mature, too intelligent, too _understanding_, for someone who'd never set foot into the real world.

And inexplicable things occurred around her. Unintentional incidents she couldn't control - appearing on the school roof, dying the teacher's hair blue, or shrinking Dudley's old hand-me-downs - and things she could do intentionally. But no one else knew the difference, except for the small raven-haired girl with the bright, but yet so deep, emerald eyes.

The one time she'd willed her hair to grow back after a particularly vicious hacking from Aunt Petunia, imagining the curly raven ringlets she had before down to the last detail. It was the last time Aunt Petunia had touched her hair.

And when she was trapped in between a dead-end and Dudley's gang, she'd screwed her eyes shut and hoped that something would lure them away. When she heard their yells fading, she'd opened them again, and spotted a frighteningly similar girl running in front of the pack of boys, leading them in the opposite direction.

She'd been locked in the cupboard for an entire week following that incident, but seeing Dudley turn into a half embarrassed, half angry eggplant made the punishment worth it.

She'd just appreciated things as they are back then, not really considering the hows and the whats.

Then, with that one fateful encounter with a giant in a hut in the middle of nowhere, and she thought she'd finally found the answer.

* * *

_II. Encounter_

The thought of extraordinary occurrences fell to the back of her mind the moment she first laid eyes on the magnificent castle from her seat in the rickety boat. There was no room for what had happened _before_, as it was all she can do to continue living in the _now_.

The enchanted ceiling hypnotized her, a million stars twinkled merrily at her, so similar yet different to the gaze of the wizened headmaster. And the moment all eyes in the Great Hall focused on her small figure - she knew she was short, so shut it - she almost flinched, but steeled her nerves and walked proudly to the battered old hat, as if she was the only one existing in that moment.

Her courage - she'd wondered where the hat got that from - earned her a spot in noble Gryffindor, the House of the Brave, and it deserved capital letters with the way Ron announced it - loudly and rather obnoxious too - to the world. The cheers which lasted for almost an entire minute after her sorting damaged her already suffering ears - no thanks to Ron or Malfoy or that bushy haired girl - and she smiled tiredly as she collapsed onto the bench.

And glanced into the dark pools of a greasy haired professor. They just sat there, as if time had frozen, and in those pools, Harriet found inexplicable grief, and burning hatred. And suddenly, there was the faintest brush of something, _foreign_ and _hostile_, against her mind. So Harriet imagined walls of fire bursting into life, and raised an eyebrow in challenge as she saw the man flinch back.

That night in the common room, she was bombarded with questions and praises of things she had no answer to. Worn out after the feast, and with her patience down to its last dregs, she smiled a sickly sweet smile which didn't reach her eyes.

"Pay me."

And in the stunned silence that followed, she strode up into the girl's dorms, threw on her pajamas, and was off into dreamland before her dorm mates' stumbling footsteps even reached the door.

That night, she dreamed of indigo flames flickering around her, but always just out of reach, dispersing the moment her fingertips reached for the warmth.

* * *

_III. Realization_

Harriet smiled tiredly at Hermione, her dorm mate who first approached her in curiosity but never left. After all, no matter how much distance she tried to maintain, people could grow on you, much like fungus. Particularly stubborn fungus that couldn't be removed, even with the threat of losing their lives.

"I see sleeping beauty finally awakens, with a kiss from a mandrake plant."

And apparently her joke was not appreciated, with the heavy tome Hermione lugged at her head and the sour glare. She smiled and tilted her head to the side, letting Ron get a close-up view of the previous headmasters of Hogwarts, a History.

"Are you sure you are a princess though? Last time I checked, they didn't throw books at people."

Harriet and Hermione expertly ignored Ron's complaints in the background, and Harriet smiled genuinely, grasping Hermione's hand tightly. She was afraid that the moment she let go, it would become pale and limp, devoid of the energy Hermione possessed on a daily basis.

She heard Ron mutter "bloody violent females" under his breath, so no one would be surprised to find worms in his pillow later. The three of them shared an odd, and violent, friendship, but they were bonded together in a way that nothing could break. It was forged through blood and tears and tempting the reaper, but they'd always pulled through, through sheer stubbornness.

First Quirrell and his creepy parasite, and then a monstrous snake which can kill with its gaze and poison strong enough to kill a man in minutes.

She'd left her friends behind every single time, unable to do anything but watch as they fell down and down.

.

_Never again._

* * *

_IV. Decision_

There was one more thing she needed to do.

Just one more, and then this bloodshed would be over, and everything done with. Her friends would be safe, and their children would be able to grow up laughing, free of the troubles which had laid so heavily on their generation.

She'd caught Hermione and Ron at it once, and from that point, she'd vowed to never open a broom closet without knocking ever again. She had no doubt that Hermione would become the Mrs. Weasley for one Ronald, if the emotions she'd glimpsed when they were together were any indication. The first time she'd felt those emotions, she'd gagged, and it was the last time. Hermione's undiscovered talent as a beater had never occurred to her until now, but she'd still been happy that they found each other to rely on.

And then there was clumsy Neville, whose hands could tend to the most delicate of plants, but cause an explosion with the simplest potions. Fred and George, or Forge and Gred, who never failed to cheer her up with their pranks and jokes, laughing and washing away the bitter emotions. And loath as she was to admit it, Malfoy. The arrogant idiot whose ego became a little less swelled, though not by much.

They were the people Harriet would trust with her life, and she left them to complete the final touches.

So she smiled softly, and raised her head proudly as she walked into the snake's den.

.

She regretted nothing.

..

.

_Absolutely nothing_

_._

_.._

_._

(But as Hermione gave her an earful and tackled her in a tearful hug after her miraculous revival, she couldn't help regret the absence of earplugs in the Wizarding World. After all, she wouldn't dare to cast a _silencio_ on a furious dragon.)

* * *

_V. __Remembrance_

She hadn't aged.

Rose was two years old, Hugo had been born, and Teddy was going to enter his first year of Hogwarts.

She was 28, but she looked the same as she did a decade ago, and people had started to whisper. The tabloids hinted at her using dark magic to keep herself forever young, and suspicious glances were shot at her wherever she passed through the streets.

Her friends knew better than to listen to the poisonous articles, but they worried. She'd resigned from her post in the Auror Division, and now spent her time researching the Hollows.

Then, in a journal with brittle worn pages, she found her answer.

_The one who gathers the three shall never rest, as the blade of the reaper still cleaves._

So, she left.

It was a selfish decision - every single newspaper in Britain blazed out the news of her disappearance as their headline for a month at the very least, but by that time she was long gone. She moved into one of the small cottages in a secluded part of France, and waited out the storm.

And suddenly, one night, the dreams returned.

Dreams of indigo flames taunting her, as if daring her. They flickered around her, forming images of her childhood, of things which had earned her the scorn of Aunt Petunia.

She _remembered_.

The warmth. The comforting presence. The things which she thought had been accidental magic but now realized wasn't.

So when she woke up with a smile on her lips, she welcomed back an old friend as she stared at the flame flickering softly on the Resurrection Stone.

.

...

..

_Thank you._

* * *

**DISCLAIMER - **I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn, or Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form.

**Author's Note: **So sorry people! School has literally _murdered_ me. Not fun, certainly _not fun_. Anyways, I'll update my other stories soon... probably. (Currently in process of thinking up a new plot for When the shadows remember, so be patient with me please!)

This was inspired by the fact that Viper/Mammon is an ESPer, which pretty much equals a wizard. (In my opinion, of course.) And experimentation with a completely new writing style, since I can't write long chapters anyways...

But this chapter was like a prologue, and I think I'll write it in normal format after this, unless you guys want to keep it this way?


	2. Chapter 2

For the first time in months, Harriet decided to step out up her little cottage and into the real world.

She hasn't done so - the headlines and articles flashing across newspapers around the globe had quickly dissuaded her of the idea. It was miraculous for the news to be still circulating after months - but when the British wanted to make something big, it usually happened.

It was just a short trip to Paris - or not so short in actual distance - by floo travel. It was neat, because one of the many privileges of belonging to a noble (and _extremely _dark) house was that no one ever dared to register your floo address. (No one wanted to be on the receiving end of the wrath of a powerful family with connections upon connections. Especially if the family in question was well-known for being absolutely and absurdly dark and quite willing to demonstrate their skill.)

And though there would be no hitches in the traveling part, there was still the fear of being mobbed and kidnapped back to Britain.

Even if she was not going to step foot in the magical district without being covered by layers of illusions.

Especially since the Delacours were atrociously influential in any part of France, and the heiress was married to Bill.

So, for the sake of her not being kidnapped, she plastered on the illusion of a redheaded hazel eyed teenager over herself, and completed it with a generous dash of freckles. A dress was dug out of the closet, fumbled on somehow, and a pair of sandals discovered from underneath the bed.

She wasn't sure when she'd actually acquired such superfluous items, but they worked perfectly fine for the situation. (Because Harriet Potter wouldn't have been caught dead in a dress, or any footwear that weren't sneakers, tennis shoes, or combat boots.)

During the process of changing from socially unacceptable clothes to the actually fashionable (in her opinion, not that it was exactly accurate), she wondered why there was a dress there in the first place. Among the sweatshirts and jeans which looked like they had seen better days.

Harriet shrugged. She didn't exactly care, it was there, so it was there.

And when she turned to look at herself in the floor-length mirror, she couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

There was no way she would've recognized the girl standing in mirror as herself if she hadn't known better. Because Harriet Potter didn't have straight red hair down to her shoulder blades, hazel eyes which actually wasn't her most noticeable feature, or worn a white sun dress which ended just above her knees. (Imagine dueling Moldyshorts in a dress.)

She knew quite a few people who would've loved to see (and blackmail) her in a dress. But she tried to be separate from that part of her life now, and having to watch her friends die was quite an incentive. (Teddy didn't count. He was just an adorable color-changing puffball that she was planning to kidnap off the Hogwarts Express.)

Harriet rolled her eyes at herself, snatched the expandable purse on the table, patted the small leather bag hanging around her neck for a resurrection stone, and hurled a handful of floo powder at the fireplace before shouting out what she hoped was the correct pronunciation for Paris in French.

(French people were weird. Their language was weirder, and she was going to buy one of those ridiculously expensive linguistic pensieve memories the first chance she gets. Hopefully without being recognized and then mobbed.)

* * *

The Potter luck was a terrible, cursed thing that deserved to be stomped to pieces, burnt to ashes, and then tossed into the deepest pits of hell. And then fed to Moldyshorts as dinner.

It was also the moment that taught Harriet to never walk around without a full dose of liquid luck.

Even with her illusion covered self, completely new style of clothing, and basically looking like a misplaced American tourist, she tumbled headfirst into trouble. Or rather, trouble landed headfirst into her in the form of a blond Italian (Probably. He could be French.).

A blond Italian with hair resembling a pile of seaweed, sky blue eyes, and the ability to trip over a speck of dust (or just nothing at all).

It went somewhat along the lines of being bowled over, hearing the offender letting out a rather colorful string of Italian - thanks Merlin that those memories worked - and then getting tugged up and around a sharp corner.

"_Mi dispiace, mi dispiace, mi dispiace_!" The blond rambled hysterically, and Harriet pulled him up as he almost tripped. "I shouldn't have taken you with me! Now you're in danger too!"

Harriet stared blankly at the hysteric blond, thinking it was a bit too late to be saying that. Sighing, Harriet shoved into an alleyway, ignoring his frantic flailing.

Her hand reached out to slap itself over the his mouth as he started to ramble hysterically, and she ignored his muffled protests as a tendril of her consciousness reached for the minds of their pursuers.

Their minds were completely unguarded, almost inviting with the way they were completely unaware of her existence. She remembered the way the alley was before they'd arrived, the cracks in brick walls, the mouse scurrying away from their previous footsteps, and the sound of footsteps echoing faintly but fading away. The image slid easily into their minds, and the men ran on, unaware of the people who stood a scant few meters from them, chasing after footsteps they will never find.

A flicker of something akin to pride blossomed in her chest as she watched their figures disappear and their voices dim, even as she held her breath. Suspicious bulky men dressed in black bristling with firearms and completed with sunglasses and overly fancy watches. (She _wondered _who they could be, dressed in such _inconspicuous_ clothing.)

The logical part of her mind wondered just who on earth was the klutzy Italian staring at her with wide eyes, but it didn't last long. It was quickly and painfully squashed when he started to remind her of a kicked puppy, complete with the pathetic eyes and the whimpering.

She hauled the man to a quaint little cafe two blocks over, gave him no chance to talk, and ordered a ridiculous amount of sweets and pastries. Then proceeded to dump the bill on him. There was no way she was paying for anything, and she rolled her eyes as she heard a high-pitched shriek emit from the cafe.

She regretted ever helping the man as she slammed her door in his face. (How he could find her in an undiscovered and uncharted part of France she would never know.)

* * *

Harriet stared. And stared. Then she slammed the door, eliciting a yelp from the blond standing outside as his foot was crushed.

She glared at the expensive italian leather currently acting as a doorstop. Her eyes followed it up to the blue eye that was peeking through the crack.

"Hi?" His voice quivered even as he stood half a head taller than her, and flinched as her glare intensified. Even dressed in a white tuxedo with a navy shirt, he looked like someone had accidentally murdered his puppy. (In less polite words - absolutely pathetic.)

"Who are you and why are you," she stared pointedly at the black-suited men who stood behind him. "Standing on my porch with very suspicious looking men?"

At least the men looked friendly this time, and some were even setting out tents and making firepits. A few waved to her as they saw her staring, and her eyebrows rose above her hairline.

She turned her attention back to the blond as he scratched his head sheepishly, and she couldn't but help but relate to Neville with the action.

Sweet sweet Neville, who taught herbology at Hogwarts, dealing with surprisingly vicious and often carnivorous plants every single day. He would probably be teaching Teddy and his band of miscreants and trying to keep them out of trouble.

He coughed lightly. "Sorry, I guess I never introduced myself," she could swear that she saw sparkles surrounding him, "I'm Bettino Cavallone, and these are my bodyguards." He said as he gestured to the men who had completely taken over her porch.

"I see." She said dryly, lifting an eyebrow. It was obvious that she didn't see, but the man in front of her seemed to be the stereotype for blonds - oblivious, idiotic, and without any common sense.

She slammed the door in his face, and proceeded to ignore the whining and complaints which came from the other side of the door for the next few hours.

She opened the door at sunset again, when the pounding finally stopped and she'd had enough of Mark Twain for a lifetime. Normally people weren't rude enough to camp outside someone's house for an entire night, despite the tents that were being set up.

Or maybe there were people that rude.

Campfires sizzled happily, cups of coffee were being passed around her front yard, and the men were roasting meat over the fires. A few caught her door opening and waved cheerfully at her, while others broke up in raucous laughter at her stunned expression.

And then she found herself being tackled by a head full of blindingly blond hair, and stumbled back a few steps at the force. Sparkles appeared around the man, and his smile was absolutely blinding.

"Come in for dinner then, unless you want to be food for the mosquitoes instead." She resigned herself to dealing with the human equivalent of a puppy for dinner. "And if anyone sets anything on fire, I'll set them on fire."

It was the start of a _beautiful, gorgeous _friendship, filled with parasitism and sparkles. (She was definitely being harmed, and Bettino just seemed to leech off her energy.)

* * *

That summer, Harriet stole Teddy from Andromeda. (Andromeda knew that she had taken him of course, but she had no clue where.)

Both of them changed their appearance to a pair of brown-haired siblings, and proceeded to tour the entirety of France in a month.

They found out that Nice had sunny beaches, and they had snow globes and tan lines to remind them of that fact. Teddy complained the entire time that the Pope was way too rich, with his gigantic palace in Avignon. (He stopped after Harriet reminded him of the Black inheritance.) Water skiing was ridiculously amusing, and Harry laughed herself silly watching Teddy splutter and falling into the Gorge du Verdon. Versailles was the size of Hogwarts two times over, and the Eiffel Tower smelled horrible.

They stuffed their souvenirs into bottomless bags - some postcards here, a t-shirt there, and random tidbits scattered in the mix. Others probably thought it was weird with how light they traveled; only two sport bags between the two of them.

So a month later, it was two exhausted ex-tourists that found themselves arriving back at Harriet's little cottage in Jura, France. The sight that greeted them was one that had became a daily routine over the year.

Men in black suits roasted food over a bonfire, and there were tents set up in a circle on her yard.

Teddy finally picked his jaw off the ground. "I'm hallucinating." he said flatly, pointing at the group of people in front of him. "Please tell me you spiked my food with Uncle George's pixie powder."

Harriet rolled her eyes and tugged Teddy along as she stepped into the clearing. (Damn it, this was her front yard, not a camping site. And especially not a camping site for a bunch of suspiciously dressed men.)

By their looks, they had probably just arrived this morning and found no one home, and decided to wait. (No one had tried to break into her house since the time Bettino was hung upside down, and covered with paint, honey, and feathers. She still had blackmail pictures.)

"HARRIET!" She neatly sidestepped the blond blur that charged at her, and Teddy blinked as he was suddenly lifted up and set on her other side. They turned as one to stare at the blond who'd tripped headfirst into the shrubbery, who'd pulled himself out and stared at them with pleading eyes.

"Where did you go?" Bettino looked on the verge of tears, and Harriet pinned him with a flat look. She was her own person, and she appreciated the liberty of going on vacation without finding a hysteric blond on her doorstep when she returned.

She turned to Teddy. "Do you see this idiot, Teddy? Never become like that. _Ever_."

"Yes, Aunt Harriet." Teddy nodded resolutely, pinning the man with what Harriet called the 'you-are-so-insignificant-and-beneath-me' look. "Can we go and have dinner now?"

"Of course." Harriet smiled at him as they walked towards the door. "So what do you want to eat?"

Bettino whined as he was ignored, and mumbled something about _another one_ underneath his breath.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

More development coming up later! I have an entire timeline plotted out for this, so hopefully everything will make sense later on.

And can someone _please_ tell me how to write longer chapters? I can never fit in the amount of details which is required for a longer chapter. (Most of the stories I read are fast-paced and ridiculously full of time skips...)

I'm sorry that this chapter is not really edited. I've never taken a formal writing class outside of the required curriculum, and I really don't have much free time with finals and projects...


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